


glitter on the floor

by ravenreyamidala



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Breakup, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 18:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18058097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenreyamidala/pseuds/ravenreyamidala
Summary: So this is how it ends: not with a bang, but with a whimper.





	glitter on the floor

**Author's Note:**

> #copingmechanism lol

You can feel it. You already know. 

When you see him at the door, in his tuxedo, the line of his shoulders, the shadow of the furrow in his brow, and the way he looks at you like he’s not seeing you before the smile breaks across his face. Sudden. Practiced. Perfect teeth, and all. 

It’s the smile you’ve seen in countless newsreels and movies and galas and press conferences. 

You smile back, the perfect media smile that your mother taught you patiently. Just the right ratio of lip to teeth, not stretching too many muscles, soft eyes. You blink at each other. 

He offers you his elbow. You take it. You don’t wish that it were your hand in his instead, your fingers twining together.

* * *

 

You don’t want to be at this gala. He doesn’t either. You smile and he smiles, and whoever you’re talking to smiles, gushing over him and his bravery and accolades and congratulates you both on your relationship. 

Your teeth aren’t grinding together. They survived stomach acid and palladium poisoning and god knows what else, you’re not going to destroy them tonight. 

There’s no snarky commentary about a philandering senator trying to keep his mistress and wife apart. No shared laughter over what happens when the mistress finally manages to catch the senator, or when the wife slaps the senator. 

There’s no lump in your throat. There are no tears in his eyes. You both just turn to the next person and make small talk.

* * *

 

After, there’s no fight. Your fingers itch; you want a drink. Want him to shout. Want something louder than the silence stretching between you both. 

“This isn’t working,” he says. 

You nod. You don’t say  _ no shit, Steve _ . You settle for hanging up your jacket in the closet. You look at his side, the emptiness that greets your eyes. You don’t know when that happened. 

He’s talking. You’re not listening. Does it matter what he’s saying? You know it’s your fault. It’s always your fault. They never say it, but you can do the math. The common denominator in all these failed fucking relationships has always been you. 

“I’m sor--,” 

You laugh. 

“Save the bullshit,” you say. “It’s fine.”

“To-,” 

“Just stop. Just. Leave. If you’re not going to stay, please leave.” 

He nods. You watch silently as he gathers up his stuff from the bedside table. At the door, he pauses, looks back towards you. You look back, face stony. He leaves. 

You don’t know how you end up on your knees, on your belly, face down into the carpet. You don’t scream. He’ll hear you. You lie there. You don’t get up and find something to drink. You tell yourself, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. You don’t believe it. You don’t cry. 

It’s a surprise when you finally get up and find your face wet. You go to the workshop, still in your gala outfit minus the jacket.

* * *

 

The next time you see him, he doesn’t see you. You still work together, after all. You have to see him. Functional exes. That sort of thing. 

There’s a meeting at the compound. But before everything, you see him in the conference room. He’s laughing. You’re too far to hear him, you don’t have enhanced hearing like he does, but your brain fills in the sound. Autocomplete, in the worst possible way. 

You step into the conference room. Before he turns around, you smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all are staying warm. title from taylor swift's "new year's day".


End file.
